Girl on Fire
by Owlkin
Summary: Inspired by the song by Alicia Keys. Dusted off and re-posted.


This was written a few years ago, taken down for some reason, and got lost in the sauce when I got a new computer.

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Songfic Challenge: Girl on Fire by Alicia Keys

Issued by: Aereal

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Karigan stared out the tiny window that was situated to let in as much light as possible into the small whitewashed room. She had lain idly in the mender's cot, having exerted herself by donning her last clean uniform. The others had been destroyed in Blackveil and the corp stores of spare clothing had been depleted without the constant influx of Stevic G'ladheon's contributions.

Her room had been given to another Rider in her prolonged absence, for the number of initiates entering the corp had doubled in the past few months. Her meager belongings stowed for the time being in Captain Mapstone's office, likely with the expectation that the captain would have to ship the dead Rider's belongings back to her father in Corsca with the news of her death.

* * *

But Karigan did not die in Blackveil as they all had assumed. Her party had returned to Sacor City without her and could offer no explanation as to her whereabouts, only that she had disappeared before the month that it took them to journey back.

It was her unearthly screams that had alerted a local gravedigger, who found a bloodied and nearly unrecognizable Karigan in an unused family vault coffin on the outskirts of the city. The site was fairly new, for the wealthy merchants and officials of Sacor City preferred a more exalted location to lay their dead, than the simple sites offered by the temple priests._  
_

The gravedigger had alerted the authorities in the city, who not wanting to make the manner of her arrival known, quietly spirited her back to the mender's wing in the castle. There she lay for several more months as her wounds slowly began to heal. The cuts and abrasions sealed themselves, and the bruises faded from view but her mind never quite recovered in the way that they had expected.

* * *

Karigan seemed to glow from within, her eyes alighting with a strange sort of intensity when they came to fix upon an object. Although she had yet to speak of her strange absence, she bore each visit of her captain patiently and gave few responses to the barrage of questions. A visit from Fastion, and eventually from King Zachary, yielded similar results for her expressions did not denote any particular partiality to the latter. He had eventually quitted the room, distressed by Karigan's placid countenance, returning to his chambers and to his Queen.

* * *

Karigan was eventually pronounced healthy enough to return to full duty, albeit reluctantly by the healer, who had watched her smile indifferently at the numerous individuals who came to visit the renowned Rider. None had managed to reach her emotionally and some were not even recognized. But, the King's messengers were sorely needed to carry vital correspondence to the provinces, to scout ahead for the war looming on the horizon. Thus she was restored to the Green Rider corp.

She fell into a similar routine, always returning to her room after a message run. She took her meals with the others but chose not to contribute to the discussions. Sometimes she came to the headquarters briefly to ask a question of the captain, but always walked past the common room as she returned to her small quarters.

Laren, and the other veteran Riders, worried after her but could do no more with the pressing needs of the service. The younger Riders eyed her warily and none dared to approach the strange, almost fey like Rider as she went about her day.

* * *

It was one moonless night that Karigan silently left her room, leaving behind all but her uniform, saber, and brooch. With a nary a note nor notice, she stole away from the city atop Condor's back, her eyes glowing fiercely blue in the still black night. There were none who could have reported seeing her leave, nor find any evidence as to her destination. For all intents and purposes, Karigan had disappeared yet again.

* * *

In the war that followed a few short months later, and on the final battlefield where so many gave the last full measure, there were those who swore they saw a green cloaked woman appear, as if by magic, onto the field. The fighting had progressed to within the walls of the castle in the main courtyard, each soul fighting for their lives, from the soldiers down to the lowest kitchen maid.

That woman had appeared in the center of the last fight between Morhaven and King Zachary, quickly thrusting her saber into Morhaven's heart and pushing the wounded king back into the care of his few surviving Weapons. The wound to the blackguard's heart did not prove as fatal as she had thought, for he mustered enough strength to place his own sword thru her lower abdomen with a snarl, the gleaming tip protruding from her spine.

The king had screamed and strained to reach her but his loyal Weapons held fast, recognizing the intent of their sister as she pulled her own saber back and pushed the moonstone into his open chest wound. The force of her body colliding with his knocked them both to the ground, each now with mortal injuries that bled unto the stone. With that crimson blood dribbling out of her nose and mouth, she feebly pulled her brooch from her cloak and laid it down at her enemy's feet. Casting one look in warning at the Weapons, and one of sorrow towards Zachary, she brought the hilt of her saber down in one last act to shatter the brooch. The Weapons dragged a fighting Zachary back behind the relatively safety of a crumbling wall just in time.

The resulting eruption of light hit the moonstone in Morhaven's chest and caused the unearthly object to detonate, striking down any life within one hundred meters of its epicenter.

A few seconds later, all fighting between the surviving soldiers of both sides halted as they gaped at the small crater where Morhaven and the Rider once stood. A low keening wail was heard, overpowering in its grief, as some ventured forth tentatively to inspect the disturbed stone. There were no remains left, only the small glowing shards of a moonstone that twinkled, even in its incapacitated state.

Morhaven's followers had quietly surrendered that day, offering up their weapons and bodies with no hesitation as their eyes darted to where their leader had fell. The Second Empire had folded quietly back into the history books once again, leaving Sacoridia and its allies free once more to look to the future.

* * *

The life and deeds of Rider Sir Karigan G'ladheon was dutifully recorded by historians and praised in the songs of bards, but life in Sacor City moved ahead quickly with the rebuilding of the nation. The Riders, for years to come, would speak in whispered, hushed tones of the Rider who had survived Blackveil and sacrificed herself for the King.

The King himself would never speak her name again in public. Estora had, by their first act of consummation, conceived and delivered a healthy heir to continue the line of succession. And it was fortunate that the heir had already been secured, for Zachary would never sire another. He was a dutiful husband in all ways, but his affections would always be reserved for another. For the next twenty years, he quietly attended to the affairs of state and brought his son up honorably to succeed him as the next King of Sacoridia.

King Zachary Hillander passed quietly into his sleep one evening, his visage at peace after mourning for so many years. His loyal, but aging Weapon Fastion was called to bear witness to the King's passing. Placed close to the King's heart, was an open letter that Fastion had pulled from his open doublet and quietly tucked into the King's hands that were clasped atop his chest.

Fastion inclined his head for the Keepers to seal the lid shut as he beheld the peaceful countenance of his liege and friend.

Leaning heavily on his cane, Fastion left the tomb and re-emerged into the bright sunlight, greeted by his wife Mara, who slipped her arm through his as they walked onto the main courtyard.

In the place of the final confrontation between Mornhaven and Karigan, the branches of a young oak swayed in the breeze.

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The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy. ~John F. Kennedy


End file.
